


Second Watch of the Night

by avalonjoan



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Medical, Anxiety, Check Please Big Bang 2016, College Ambulance Service AU, Concussions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overdose, omgcpbb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonjoan/pseuds/avalonjoan
Summary: In addition to being full-time college students, the EMTs of the Samwell Emergency Medical Corps handle on-campus emergencies, day or night.  Director Jack Zimmerman is trying to move on from his own freshman-year emergency, plan the Corps’ 30-year gala, and look after his coworkers in a risky line of work.  Fortunately, his best friend Shitty Knight and new member Eric Bittle are there to make sure he gets through it.OMG Check, Please! Big Bang 2016





	1. Chapter 1

Jack Zimmermann stepped out of the Samwell Emergency Medical Corps supervisor vehicle and walked over to where the rest of his crew was huddled around their patient.  Shitty Knight, the primary crewmember, was gingerly touching the patient's fingertips and asking her to wiggle them, which she did.  The secondary member, Ollie Carlisle, stood behind Shitty, filling out the run report and occasionally asking the patient for demographic information.  The newest member, whose name Jack couldn't remember, sat on the patient's uninjured side, stethoscope in his ears, intent on taking a blood pressure.

"I'm not a doctor, but I'm comfortable saying that's broken," Shitty said as Jack approached, and Jack nodded as soon as he saw the angle the patient's forearm made. "I already called for the ambulance."

"BP is one-thirty-two over seventy-eight," the tertiary said, unwrapping the cuff from the patient's arm. Ollie jotted down the vital signs on the chart.

"Do you want to immobilize the arm, Bitty?" Shitty offered.  Bitty--Eric Bittle--that was the kid's name.  Jack hadn't been at new member orientation so he'd only met Bittle earlier that day at shift change, and as a result, had no idea what his skill level was.  As the tertiary crewmember, Bittle's job was to take vitals and get comfortable being with actual patients, and in a couple months, he'd be able to apply for secondary, where his role was a little more flexible.  Jack had joined SEMCo with a few years of experience under his belt, but most members came in fresh from their EMT programs, and that meant things moved slower than they needed to.

Bittle scooted over next to Shitty and opened his bag, finding a few cloth bandages and unwrapping them.  He unfolded one and positioned it over the patient’s arm, then paused and repositioned it. A siren yelped nearby, and Eric jumped. Jack turned to see Capital Ambulance pulling into the quad.

“Either tie the sling or let someone in who can,” Jack said to Eric.

Shitty had already turned to give a report to the other EMTs, but he stopped, gently nudging Jack toward Eric and the patient. “Help him out, Jack,” he muttered before calling out to the Capital crew, who were unloading their stretcher and bringing it closer to the scene. Jack knelt beside Eric and took over putting on the sling, tying the knot behind the patient’s neck as the crew came up beside them.

“Jack Zimmermann?”

Standing, Jack eyed the middle-aged EMT who had called his name. He had a passing familiarity with most of the Capital crews, but he’d never met this guy before. “I thought it was you—my kid’s a big hockey fan.” He turned to his partner and explained, “You shoulda seen this kid play—best freshman forward Samwell’s had in years.”

“Thanks.” Jack nodded once, lips in a tight line. It wasn’t often, but every now and then, a local would recognize him, some devout college hockey follower.

“What the hell happened to you, kid?” the EMT asked, holding the stretcher in place while Shitty helped the patient sit down, “Everyone said you were on track to get drafted.”

“Got in an accident my sophomore year and had to take some time off,” Jack said. He’d rehearsed the line before. “Never made it back on the ice, but I’m back here finishing up my degree.”

The EMT shook his head. “Tough break.”

“Yeah.” Jack was grateful that the conversation dropped off there; the crew wheeling the stretcher to their truck. He turned back to his crewmates, who were zipping up their bags. “I’ll meet you guys back in the office, unless someone wants to come with me.”

“Nah, Jack,” Shitty said, starting toward the primary vehicle, “I’ve got them.”

Jack wasn’t one to protest some solitude on his drive to the campus police station, where SEMCo’s office was. He parked his vehicle beside Shitty’s SUV in the lot, leaving his bag on the front seat. Swiping his card in the front door, he waved to the officer in dispatch before heading to the office.

The office was a small room, barely big enough for a four-person crew to sit, let alone two crews at change of shift in the afternoons. Most of their equipment was in storage, but a few necessities like extra gloves and bandaging equipment were on a shelf by the computer. A futon, donated by a senior many years ago, provided the only other seating beyond the two desk chairs. The rest of the room was taken up with locked filing cabinets containing old run reports and member files. Every now and then, Jack and the other executive board members would find gems from previous years crammed into various files, including a sign insisting that those who wanted to have sex in the office were required to use a condom (“It’s important that the Corps follow the tenets of public health in EVERY situation.”)

Shitty showed up a few minutes later with the other two, one arm around Bitty as he came through the door. “Anyway, congrats on your first call,” he was saying, “It’ll start feeling easier now that you know how things go.”

Ollie handed the clipboard with the run report to Bitty and took a seat on the futon. “Shitty’s gonna dictate the report to you, and you’ll just write down what he says.”

“Let me know if you need to catch up,” Shitty said, glancing down at his copy of the template and starting, “Chief complaint: eighteen year old female with an injury to the right wrist.”

Bitty did a decent job of keeping up. After the report was done, they passed the clipboard around and everyone signed the bottom. The document went into the lockbox atop one of the filing cabinets. From there, it would go to the health center, and a copy would go in the student’s record there, and then it would come back to the SEMCo office to be locked away in one of the cabinets. Only the director and operations officer had access to that information, primarily for quality control and anonymous call reviews. Confidentiality was important, not to mention particularly tricky, on such a small campus.

Standing up, Shitty asked Ollie and Bitty if they needed rides anywhere. Both declined—shift change was only an hour away, and they were going to wait in the office instead of lugging their jump kits back across campus at five. Jack spent enough time in the office as it was, and he fully planned on going back to the apartment to get some work done. He stood and muttered a “See you at shift change” to the crew before leaving the office.

He was almost to the supervisor vehicle when he heard Shitty call his name. The primary jogged up to him, his hair a mess, as always. Shitty smoothed over his moustache and leaned on the bumper of the car. "Dude. I didn't want to say anything in the office, but like, what was up with you and Bitty?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were kind of an asshole to him on scene, Jack."

Jack shrugged.  "Capital was there and the patient wasn't ready to go."

"So, go in and help him," Shitty said with a sigh.  "I know you've got a lot going on, but you're better than that." He reached out and squeezed Jack’s arm. Shitty was big into physical contact as a form of punctuation, be it tousling Jack’s hair or pulling him into a hug. “We were all new once—you were just new somewhere else.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Corps was packed into one of the medium-size lecture halls in Ellerby, the psychology building. New and returning members filled the seats while Jack stood with the rest of the executive board at the front of the room. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the meeting—the first general meeting of the year always took longer than the others, plus, this year they had actual business to discuss.

"Hi, everyone! Let’s get the show on the road so we can continue with our Thursday nights.” Everyone quieted while Johnson introduced himself, not bothering to step out of the shadowy corner of the room. “My name's Johnson. I’m a senior, I'm here to get this exposition on the road and to break the fourth wall just a little.” The newer members looked at each other—it was easy to spot which members weren’t familiar with Johnson.  “I mean, I’m one of the clinical supervisors and I’m the operations officer. I take care of all the actual medical stuff, like protocol updates and call reviews and keeping an eye on our training officer.”

He tugged the brim of his hat lower down over his face while Ransom stood up and smiled. “I met all the new folks at new member orientation, but in case you forgot, I’m Justin. I’m junior, and I’m in charge of training, so, setting up continuing education and CPR classes.” He sat down.

"Larissa Duan, junior, administrative officer," Lardo said—even after two years of working together, it was still weird for Jack to hear her real name, since he only ever saw it used it on paper.  "I handle two things: paperwork and parties, so if you get an email from me, there's either a form you need to fill out or we're planning a kegster. I'm in charge of Holster and Shitty."

The new members looked even more confused than before.

"I'm Shitty," Shitty said, tucking his hair behind one ear.  "I’m the treasurer. I argue with the financial board every year to make sure they allocate enough for us to keep our Epi-pens in stock and our trucks maintained. Like Johnson, this is my last year with you all—so let’s make it a good one.” He leaned back against the chalkboard and his hair fell back into his face as his turned to look at Holster.

Adjusting his glasses, the other man waved. “And I’m Holster, the secretary, also a junior. You’ll get a lot of emails from me, mostly reminding you to come to general meetings. Oh, and because no one else decided to say so—Ransom, Shitty, Lardo and I are all primaries—primary crewmembers--or crew chiefs, whatever you want to call us. Anyways, you’ll always be with one of us on a call.”

Jack had been waiting uncomfortably at the end of the line for everyone to finish introducing themselves, and when Holster finished talking, Jack swallowed hard to quell the fluttering in his chest. "Hi, everyone," he said, clearing his throat.  "I'm Jack--I'm the director, so I oversee, well, everything.  I'm, uh, clearly a little older than most of you--I took a few years off after my freshman year and worked for a fire department ambulance--but I'm graduating next fall, so technically, I'm a second-semester junior, I guess."

"Since you brought up the topic of experience, and I have a captive audience," Shitty picked up where Jack trailed off, and Jack was grateful to be done talking, "There's clearly a wide range of experience on the Corps.  Some folks were professional EMTs for years, and some of us work on the weekends or over the summers, and a lot of you have never touched a real patient in your life.  No matter how new you are, you're always going to have someone with experience working with you, and we're here to help you learn.  If you're ever confused or unsure about something, just remember--we've got your back." 

Jack looked away from the Corps and away from Shitty when he talked. He hadn’t really seen Bittle since their first call together, and that had been two weeks ago. He’d tried to be more patient with new members since then, but it still felt like Shitty’s interjection was directed at him. Fortunately, with all the ‘first meeting’ orders of business, there wasn’t time to dwell on that, and Ransom started in on the agenda.

"Our first con ed class is two weeks from today, and it’s gonna be taught by an alum of ours--those of you who've taken shifts already have probably seen his plaque in the office.” Ransom hadn’t talked about this in their board meeting at the start of the year, but Jack knew what was coming. “Kent Parson graduated a few years back; won the student speaker award at the North American Collegiate EMS Organization conference for his talk about working with psychiatric patients, and he comes every year to present for us, even though he's busy killing it in med school.  Anyways.  Two weeks from today.  This room.  Be there."

Jack tried to keep a neutral face as Ransom talked about Kent.  In the four years since Jack’s first stint at Samwell ended, Kent had called and texted Jack at least a hundred times. In the beginning, Jack was too sick to respond, to think about anything but getting through the day. After a few months, when he was finally able to piece everything that happened together, he just felt guilty. He’d deliberately tried not to hurt Kent, but he had anyway, and the last thing he wanted to go was go and make things worse. It was better for Kent if they didn’t talk, he decided. Kent, to his credit, kept trying. He let Jack know when he decided to graduate early, when he got into medical school, asked to get coffee when he was in town visiting.  He never missed Jack's birthday.

The meeting needed to end. Jack was starting to feel jittery, that closed-in sensation, like he was going to be stuck in that room forever. He stopped paying attention during the reminder about conduct—members could only wear their uniform t-shirts while on duty, and drinking was not allowed while wearing anything with the SEMCo logo on it—and Holster’s announcement about Corps movie night at his and Ransom’s apartment, and tuned back in when Lardo brought up the last big topic for the night.

“One more thing before we wrap up,” she said, “I know it’s a long way off, but at the end of the school year, after finals but before graduation, we’re having the thirtieth anniversary SEMCo Gala. It’s a big fancy thing, alumni fly in for it. Bad Bob—I mean—Dr. Robert Alice, the founding member of SEMCo, always comes. Plus, you’re actually gonna get to hear Jack speak, for once.” She glanced over at him, smirking.

Jack attempted a smile in return. He’d given speeches in the past—mainly when he was running for the director position, but that had been easy. All he’d needed to do was talk about his experience as an EMT and his goals for the Corps. But the Gala was a big deal—at least he had the better part of a year to figure out what he was going to say that would be worth listening to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to make things right with Bitty. Things don't go quite according to plan.

Jack decided that the movie night at Ransom and Holster's would be a good chance to apologize to Bitty--there would be enough people there that if it got weird, it wasn't like they were obligated to hang out for the rest of the night.  He hadn't planned out what he was going to say.  "Sorry for being a dick on that call" seemed like a good start. 

Holster's phone buzzed. "Bitty's downstairs," he announced, setting his drink down on the coffee table.

"Don't get up--I'll go let him in." Jack put one hand on Holster's thigh.

"Thanks, man."  Holster took another swig of his beer and draped his arm around Ransom's shoulder. 

"Thanks, Jack," Ransom echoed, nuzzling against Holster's neck before kissing his cheek. "Someday we'll get a real apartment that lets us buzz people in."

Jack smiled, leaving the apartment door slightly ajar as he stepped out.  Ransom and Holster had lived across the hall from each other their freshman year, and once they both joined SEMCo, they'd become inseparable.  No one was surprised when they hooked up at a Corps party during their sophomore year, and honestly, having two high-ranking members out about their relationship had done wonders for the group's image, which all too often looked like the rest of EMS: a group of straight, white men.  SEMCo primaries were always visible to the campus community since they had the truck, and Ransom and Holster had made it obvious that the Corps was for everyone.

When Jack opened the door, Bitty's expression visibly hardened.  "Hi, Jack," he said flatly, stepping inside, a large plastic container in his hands.  He started up the stairs.  "2B, right?"

"Yeah," Jack said.  He watched Bitty go up a few steps before calling out, "Bittle, wait."

Bitty stopped, his shoulders heaving with a deep breath, and turned his head. 

"I'm sorry about how I acted on that call a few weeks ago.  It wasn't right.  I know we haven't done any calls together since, but everyone says you're doing a great job." 

Nodding, Bitty replied, "Thank you."  He gave a little polite smile and continued up the stairs. 

Jack trailed behind Bitty as the freshman pushed open the door to the apartment.  "Hey, y'all," greeted the group, putting his container on the table.  "Sorry I'm late--the dorm oven was not cooperating with me."

He took off the lid, revealing an assortment of miniature pies.  Shitty jumped to his feet and lifted one out, cradling it in his hands.  "Bro.  You made these?"

Bitty nodded.  "There's strawberry-rhubarb and blueberry in there.  No nuts in anything, although I can't make guarantees about the communal baking equipment."

While everyone leaned in to get a pie, oohing and aahing over Bitty's baking, Jack went back to his place beside Holster. He saw Bitty glancing around the room, presumably for a place to sit, and the only obviously open space was beside Jack on the couch. Bitty looked to the couch, then to Jack, and quickly took a seat on the floor by Lardo's feet instead. 

“Bitty, there’s room up here,” Ransom said.

Bitty shook his head. “I’m alright here. I’ve heard stories about what goes on on that couch.”

Ransom and Holster turned to each other, attempting to keep straight faces, but Holster quickly conceded. “Look, when you’re six-foot-four and you find a couch that’s long enough to—“

“Oh my god, I thought you were joking!” Scandalized, Bitty turned around to stare at Lardo, who shrugged and patted the arm of her chair.

“You are always welcome to join Shits and I over here, Bitty,” she said. “Jack’s the only one who’s not grossed out by that thing.”

With the banter surrounding couch sex unfolded around him, Jack felt a little less uncomfortable. He managed a half-smile, saying, “I figure since we get exposed to bodily fluids at work, what’s a little more going to do?”

 

* * *

 

Jack was dressed for bed and had almost finished the first part of Ken Burns’ baseball documentary when the first call of the night came in. Closing his laptop, he changed out of his sweatpants and into jeans while Officer Pelletier dispatched the crew to the loading dock behind Faber for an intoxicated male. Jack listened to Lardo, Kyle, and Bitty call on the air, and he was about to call on himself when the officer interrupted. “Samwell control to all on-duty SEMCo units: we have a second call coming in for the unresponsive male on Ravenwood, third floor.”

Pulling his shoes on, Jack keyed his radio and replied, “SEMCo supervisor has that. Supervisor to SEMCo Tertiary, what’s your location?”

“SEMCo Tertiary, still in South Quad,” Bitty’s voice came through.

“Tertiary, why don’t you take the call in Ravenwood, and I’ll meet you there. SEMCo Secondary and Primary, continue your response to Faber.”

“SEMCo Tertiary has Ravenwood.”

Every now and then this happened—two calls coming in at once—but on the night of the Fallfest dance, it was practically guaranteed. On most ambulance services there were only two EMTs to a patient, and while SEMCo had protocols drawn up for these situations, most members had never operated outside of the usual four-person crew.

Bitty would be first on scene, since his dorm in Devens was right across the quad from Ravenwood. As Jack got in the supervisor car, flicked on the lights, and drove onto campus, he momentarily worried that the younger member would freeze up like he did on their first call together. But it wasn’t like Jack was far away, and one of the officers would probably be there too. While the officers weren’t EMTs, they were all experienced first responders and could hold things over until Jack got there.

Jack had come to a near stop by the edge of campus while a group of students blocked the road, teetering on heels and visibly swaying with pre-dance booze and clearly unaware that the sirens meant ‘get out of the way.’ Someone, hopefully a designated driver, had double-parked, leaving Jack barely enough room to pass between them and the row of cars at the curb. He changed siren tones, rolling his eyes and gesturing for them to get out of the way. He was about to give up and take the longer route around the block when a different voice came through the radio. "Unit 44 requesting backup in Ravenwood.  Patient assaulted the EMT on scene.  Get a Capital unit to this location."

Officer Pelletier responded, "All available SUPD units, please respond to Ravenwood, second floor.  Calling for EMS now.  Do you want the SEMCo supervisor to continue to your location?"

"Yeah--I've got the guy cuffed, but the EMT needs medical attention."

"Received. SEMCo supervisor, do you copy?”

“Supervisor has that.” Jack threw down the handheld microphone onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel until his palms hurt.  He sounded the horn, slowly pushing through the crowd of people and edging in between the cars, holding his breath.  Once he was safely past them, he sped down the access road to South quad.  Pulling up next to the parked cruiser, he left the lights on and took his first-in bag from the back seat.  He went inside, walking quickly down the hallway until he reached the lounge.

Officer Donovan was on the ground, pinning a handcuffed and spitting young man with his knee.  He nodded at Jack. "Your guy's over there," he said, tilting his head toward the cluster of couches near the television. Jack's chest tightened--Bitty was still on the ground, unmoving.  He looked so small. Dropping to his knees, Jack shook him gently. "Can you hear me, Bitty?"

Bitty made a small sound in the back of his throat.  "Jack?"

Jack swallowed. "Yeah. Don't move, okay?  An ambulance is on the way." It was hard to talk, like he didn't have enough breath to speak.  Shaking, he took out a pair of gloves from his bag and pulled them on. "Where did you get hit?"

"Don't know."  Bitty's words were slow, thick.

"That's fine. I'm gonna do a trauma exam, okay?  You're gonna feel my hands, starting on your head." His trembling hands came back wet with blood after the first touch.  Jack glanced at the nearby table and sure enough, there was a smear of red along the edge.  "Got your head pretty good there, Bitty." He continued feeling the contours of Bitty's skull before moving down to his neck.  Nothing felt out of place and nothing seemed to cause Bitty more pain--both good signs.  He took his gloves off and took out his penlight. "I'm gonna check your pupils."

Bitty opened his eyes, but quickly shut them when Jack shined the light at him, visibly wincing.  "Sorry, sorry," Jack said, flustered. "I'll stop--Capital should be here soon.  You can wiggle your toes and fingers and all that?"  Bitty did, his eyes still squeezed closed. "Good.  Just try to relax, I guess. You’re gonna be okay."

Bitty seemed content to do just that.  Jack watched as two more officers showed up and escorted Officer Donovan and the original patient out of the room.  The Capital Ambulance crew came in shortly after, and Jack helped them carry Bitty downstairs and transfer him onto the stretcher.  "I'm gonna get someone to meet you at the hospital, okay, Bits?"

More than anything, Jack wanted to get in the ambulance himself and stay with his crewmember.  After all, it was his fault that Bitty had gotten hurt--Jack should have told him to wait until he got there to go in.  Fallfest was always a disaster, and even though an unresponsive patient seemed like a safe bet, Jack should have known better.  But Jack needed to stay on campus--Holster was handling his patient, Jack needed to file an incident report, plus there was no one else who could fill in as supervisor.  He heard Bitty's weak 'okay' and watched as the crew loaded him into the ambulance and drove away, lights flashing.

And then Jack was alone in the suddenly empty quad.  He went back upstairs and got his bag, bringing it back down to the car.  Sitting in the driver's seat, he called Shitty.  His plan was to say, "Bitty got hurt on a call and I have to stay here because I’m the supervisor.  Can you go and stay with him in the ER for a few hours?"

What ended up coming out was, "Shitty I fucked up and Bitty's going to the hospital and I don't know what to do."

Fortunately, this was not the first time Jack had called Shitty in a panic, and Shitty was practiced at getting Jack to slow down.  He gently urged Jack to take deep breaths, to tell him what had happened, and to figure out what needed doing.  Shitty was going to drive to Blue Hills Medical Center and stay with Bitty.  Jack would go to the office and take care of all the necessary paperwork.  Shitty would text Jack with updates and hopefully take Bitty back to campus after he got checked out.  Jack would focus on staying calm and try to get some sleep.  It sounded like a good plan, and the campus even cooperated by not calling for SEMCo again that night.

By the time three rolled around, Jack found himself wishing for a call--anything to distract him from the fact that he was stuck on campus while Bitty was in the ER.  He'd stayed in the office, anticipating more patients, but after a few hours of lying on the futon, he'd resigned himself to not getting any sleep.  He decided to channel his nervous energy into something productive—sorting through the box of disorganized training documents that Ransom had unearthed from the storage room.

He was surrounded by neat stacks of paper when Shitty called him.  He'd gotten a few texts throughout the night, mainly to let him know that Bitty was okay, or had gone for a CT, but there hadn't been any updates in a few hours.  “We’re on our way back,” Shitty said. It sounded like he was whispering. “Can you meet us outside Devens and help me get him up to his room? He’s still pretty unsteady, and I told him he could stay on our couch, but he wants to be in his own bed, and I don’t blame him.”

“Sure thing.” Jack rubbed at his eyes and glanced at his watch. It was almost five. “I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, taking a few deep breaths before standing. Shoving various papers into empty file folders, Jack stacked them in the corner and quickly covered the pile with a note reading, ‘Leave for Zimmermann.’ He pulled on his uniform jacket before going down the hall to dispatch, letting Officer Pelletier know that Bitty was okay and on his way back to campus. The officer started telling Jack about the guy who hit Bitty, how after they pulled up his record, they found out he had a history of being disruptive, even a previous drunk and disorderly charge outside Samwell. In all honesty, Jack didn’t care about the guy’s history—he’d assaulted an EMT, someone who was trying to help. That was enough for Jack to hate him. He thanked Officer Pelletier repeatedly while trying to edge out of the control room until finally, the other man seemed to get the message and shooed Jack out.

When Jack pulled up at South Quad, Shitty’s car was already parked in the lot outside Devens, and Shitty was leaning against the trunk, a joint in one hand and a white envelope in the other. Jack knew full well that Shitty was going to drive back to the house, probably still smoking, but he was in no place to call Shitty out about anything.

“He fell asleep on the ride,” Shitty said, gesturing at the car. “Poor kid.”

“He’s doing alright, though?”

Shitty shrugged. “The light’s really bothering him, and he’s still a little out of it. They gave him some Zofran in the ED and made sure he could keep down some ginger ale and crackers before they let him go.” Putting one hand on Jack’s shoulder, Shitty’s voice turned to something a little less clinical. “You doing alright?”

Jack shrugged as well. “I’ll be fine.”

Shitty gave him the look that said ‘that’s not what I asked’ and moved on. “Alright.   Why don’t you grab the stair chair while I wake him up a little?”

“I thought I’d just carry him up,” Jack said, “He’s small enough, and that way you can head home.” He’d imposed on Shitty enough that night.

Shitty seemed to ponder the idea for a moment, taking a drag from the joint. He handed the envelope to Jack. “Here’s his discharge paperwork. No working until he’s cleared, Tylenol for pain, it’s all in there. He’s allowed to sleep, just needs someone to check on him every now and then—I’ll swing by after Queer Lit.”

Jack tucked the papers into the supervisor backpack. “Thanks for staying with him.”

“No problem. You doing okay?”

Nodding, Jack let Shitty pull him into a hug before going to retrieve Bitty.

“Hey, Bits,” Shitty called gently, his hand on Bitty’s thigh. The freshman opened his eyes, making a small whining noise and covering his face with one hand. Shitty reached across him and plucked a pair of aviator sunglasses from the cupholder, sliding them over Bitty’s head. “There you go. Jack’s gonna hulk out and take you up to your room. I’ll come by in a few hours, okay?”

Nodding, Bitty swung his legs out of the car. “Thanks, Shitty.”

“Anything for you, kid. We’ve got your back.”

Jack crouched down, sliding one arm under Bitty’s knees and another behind his back and standing. Bitty put his arms around Jack’s neck, his head against Jack’s shoulder, and Jack’s breath caught. This was his fault—Bitty, usually a firestorm of conversation and action, was like a doll in his arms. Gritting his teeth, Jack walked into the building lobby, Shitty unlocking the door for them before retreating to his car.

“You can’t carry me all the way up,” Bitty protested while Jack started up the steps, although he didn’t make any attempt to get out of Jack’s hold. “I live on four.”

Taking the first steps up, Jack replied, “I was a firefighter, remember? You weigh less than my gear.” He was careful not to bump Bitty’s head as he navigated the tight staircase—the freshman dorms were among the older buildings on campus, and while he’d taken enough people up with a stairchair, this required a different skill set.

On the fourth floor, Jack walked down the hall and scanned the door decorations for Bitty’s name. Outside the one labeled ‘Eric’ he set Bitty on his feet and unlocked the door, taking Bitty’s keys from his beltloop. The room was dark, save for a little sunlight passing around the edges of the window shades, and Bitty walked past Jack and curled up on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. He kicked at his shoes, apparently trying to get them off.

“Hang on, let me help you,” Jack said, closing the door behind him before going to untie Bitty’s sneakers, sliding them off one at a time. Bitty took off Shitty’s sunglasses and held them out in Jack’s general direction. After setting them on the desk, Jack looked Bitty over—he looked better than he had right after he got hit, but not by much. Bitty squirmed a little more and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them to his ankles, where Jack tugged them the rest of the way off.

He was folding Bitty’s pants when the other moaned. It was the same soft noise he'd made when Jack first found him in the lounge: a desperate, pained sound.  "What is it?"

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Bitty said, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Grabbing the trashcan off the floor, Jack put it in Bitty's lap and took a seat next to him.  He put one hand on the boy's back and rubbed slow, purposeful circles over his shirt.  He wished he were better with words, with comforting, the way Shitty was. Bitty took deep breaths, finally resting his head against the rim of the can. 

"Better?"

Bitty shrugged. "Gonna stay like this for a bit."

"Whatever you need." Jack leaned back slightly, propping himself up with his arms. "Shitty said they gave you something for nausea in the ED."

"I think it’s wearing off," Bitty replied, sounding tired.  He leaned to the side, resting lightly against Jack. "Can you keep rubbing my back?"

Jack nodded, putting his hand on Bitty's back again.  He couldn't get past how small he looked--it felt like Jack's hand took up so much space.  He continued with the gentle motion, feeling Bitty relax under his touch.  The longer he went on, the more he noticed the other leaning, until Jack held all of Bitty's weight against him. 

Carefully sliding the wastebasket out of Bitty's loose grip, Jack let it drop to the floor and did his best to reposition Bitty on the bed so that he could lie down. To his credit, Bitty managed to get under the covers even in his mostly-asleep state. He seemed to be settling in okay, and Jack was about to get off of the bed to give him more room when muscle memory seemed to take over--Bitty reached over and took hold of Jack’s hand, bringing it to his chest. In that position, Jack had no choice but to lie down behind Bitty, the younger man cradled against his chest.

Jack used to lie awake like this every night--a boy falling asleep in his arms, his face pressed into blond hair, worry pooling in his chest.  He'd wait for the Xanax or shot of vodka to kick in, the constant whir in his head quieting until sleep came.  Now, not even that fact that he'd been awake for nearly twenty-four hours was enough to slow him down.  When Bitty's grip on his hand loosened, Jack slid his fingers down to the other's wrist and felt the pulse there.  He wanted to stay awake, to continue to reassure himself that Bitty was safe, but eventually, with the warmth of the younger man pressed to his chest and the steady beat against his fingertips, Jack couldn't help but rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets stuck in the past, but Bitty has pie, so everything's okay.

 Shitty had insisted that they make plans to keep Jack busy--they'd decided on ice cream sundaes for dinner and a movie--but he'd texted Jack at five to let him know that his advisor was running late for their meeting.   He'd be out by six, Shitty said, and he'd meet Jack back at the house.  If Jack had waited to look at his phone until he'd left the office, he might have gotten the message when he was safely in the apartment with hot fudge already in the microwave.  Instead, he saw the text just after shift change ended and everyone left for class or dinner or, in Ransom’s case, back to the corner of the library where he’d set up his study zone.

And so, Jack ended up alone in the office with an hour or so of free time, on the one day of the year he really didn’t like to have any. There was work he could be doing—he needed to get the invitations for the gala sent to the printer before winter break—but like The Telltale Heart, he couldn’t get his mind off the one place he’d been avoiding since getting his Director keys.

After unlocking the file cabinet, Jack sat down on the floor of the office. He opened the bottom drawer and paged through manila folders until he found the run report he was looking for—four years ago to the day.

 

DATE: November 30, 2012

PATIENT NAME: Jack Laurent Zimmermann

CHIEF COMPLAINT: Overdose

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS: 18 y/o male called SEMCo from Berman Residence Hall, stating he ‘took all his pills.’ On arrival, patient found to be responsive to verbal stimuli. Multiple empty pill bottles near patient, including lorazepam 1 mg tablets (#30) and sertraline 100 mg tablets (#30). Roommate on scene, states patient has a hx of anxiety, unable to obtain other medical history.

 

There was the sound of keys in the office door. Jack looked up, quickly shoving the run report back into its place in the drawer. The door opened, and Bitty poked his head inside.

"Jack!" Bitty beamed and stepped all the way in.  "I didn't think anyone would be here."

Jack locked the file cabinet, slipping his keys back into his pocket and sitting on the futon.  "I basically live here."  He hoped that he came off as less suspicious than he felt--he did have twenty-four hour room access as a board member, unlike Bitty, who only had a key when he was on-duty.  "How did you get in?"

 Bitty opened the box and held it out to Jack. There was a gorgeous cherry pie inside, cradled in place with a kitchen towel, a single slice missing. "Officer Danna is easily bribed."

"I forgot you were so—good at baking.” Jack pursed his lips together, wishing he’d been able to word that better. Talking was hard sometimes.

Bitty didn’t seem to notice, smiling and going on, "Now that I've got all this off-duty time, I can go to cooking club meetings.  I thought I'd leave it as a surprise for the crew, in case they get any calls overnight." He sat down beside Jack and put the box in his lap. Reaching into the  box, he pulled out two plastic forks and a knife.  "It looks like you could use some, though." 

Jack forced a smile, his voice strained. "What do you mean?"

Bitty pressed the fork into Jack's hand.  He took the knife and attempted to cut through the crust with quick sawing motions, the plastic bending with the movement. "All I'm saying is that it's impossible to be sad when you're eating three-time county fair blue-ribbon Bittle family recipe pie.  Do y'all have any plates in the office?"

Grateful that Bitty didn't press the issue, Jack stood and lifted a box off of the top of the filing cabinet.  After removing a few half-empty bags of Solo cups, Jack found a small stack of paper plates and set them on the desk, taking one each for him and Bitty.  He held out the plates as Bitty carefully lifted a slice of pie onto each one.  

“How was your break?" Jack asked, before putting a forkful of cherry deliciousness in his mouth.

Bitty's smile faltered.  "I stayed here--it's expensive to fly back and forth to Georgia for just a few days."  He shrugged, taking a bite of pie. "I did Thanksgiving with Shitty’s family, and I'm pretty sure he was high for the entire day.  We had a good time."

Working in EMS, Jack had missed his fair share of holidays, but he was never far from family.  His parents had celebrated holidays early or late to accommodate his work schedule--one Easter they brought dinner to the firehouse for the whole crew.  Spending the holidays hundred of miles away from his parents...

"You're going home for winter break, right?" Jack asked.

Bitty nodded, visibly excited at the thought of home.  "Of course.  Mama’s got things planned from the moment I get back. I don't know how she handled being deployed when I was a baby."

"What branch?" Jack had always been curious about the armed forces. He knew he was ineligible to serve, on account of his psychiatric history, but quite a few of his coworkers at the fire department had been veterans.  When he started taking classes again, the first one he signed up for was a course on World War I. 

"She was a Navy corpsman.  Taught me a lot more than just how to bake--she's the reason I became an EMT."  Bitty's tongue darted out, licking away a few crumbs from his lip. 

"On that topic--when does Dr. Eames say you can take shifts again?"  Jack knew that concussions needed rest, but it had been almost a month and Bitty still hadn't been cleared to return.

Bitty looked clearly disappointed, his shoulders slumping.  "He wants me to wait until next semester, since I'm still having headaches."

Hanging his head, Jack looked away.  "I'm sorry, Bits."

Something nudged against his thigh, and Jack looked back at Bitty, who was poking Jack with the end of his fork.  He met Jack's gaze, his expression gentle.  "Hey.  It wasn't your fault."  He gestured to Jack's plate. "And I already told you--you're not allowed to be sad when there's pie."

"Thanks, Bittle." Jack took another bite of pie and listened as Bitty launched into a story about Thanksgiving with the Knights, including a bit about Shitty arguing for a raise in minimum wage over dessert and then frustratedly taking the remaining carrot cake and Bitty onto the roof for the rest of the night. When Shitty called him apologetically, saying that he was finally done and heading back to the house, Jack was already feeling more like himself.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring semester comes and Jack's not doing so well. Bitty and Shitty are good bros.

 From his bed, Jack could hear the apartment door open and close.  Judging by the light coming through the window--or more accurately, not coming through--he had slept through the afternoon.  He was still in his jeans, having gotten into bed immediately after getting out of his morning classes.  There was a knock at the door to his room. Still groggy, Jack groaned in acknowledgement, and the door opened.  Shitty dropped the primary backpack in the doorway, striding across the room and sitting on the bed.  He ran his fingers through Jack's hair and shook his head.  "My dude, your fever has no chill whatsoever.”

Spring semester had started out fine. After getting off the waiting list for the photography class, Jack found himself mostly taking pictures of various crewmembers going about their daily lives—at Shitty’s behest, he managed to get a tasteful photo of his roommate cooking dinner in his uniform shirt, the fact that he had no pants on obscured by the stove, Lardo eyeing him with a sly smile on her face. She had always spent a decent amount of time in their apartment, but since the end of fall semester, she’d been staying the night, too.

They’d oriented a new cohort of members—some midyear students who came in as EMTs, some students who had gotten their licenses later in the fall semester. The new members were starting to take their first tertiary shifts, and most of the tertiary members from the previous semester—including Bitty—had been promoted to secondary.   Bitty had been cleared to return to duty at the start of the semester, and Jack not only enjoyed seeing him back at work, but seeing how he’d progressed as an EMT since their first meeting. He was more confident on calls, more in-tune with the flow of things.

Midway into February it started getting harder for Jack to pull himself out of bed to go to calls, or class, or anywhere, really. He’d booked an urgent appointment with his therapist—it was better to nip a depressive episode in the bud—but when the sore throat and fever showed up a few days later, he went to the health center to confirm Shitty’s preliminary diagnosis.

Mono. Dr. Eames explained that there wasn’t anything to do about it but wait, and honestly, Jack didn’t even have the energy to be upset about it.

Scooting closer to Shitty and putting his head in the other's lap, Jack smiled, too tired to laugh outright. Shitty kept playing with Jack's hair, and it was almost enough to make him forget how much everything hurt.  “Have you eaten today?”

Jack nodded. "I ate one of the things Bitty made.”

“Oh, good,” Shitty said, moving his hand down and rubbing Jack’s upper back and shoulders. "I didn't want to wake you up when I got home last night, but I figured you'd find them."

When he'd forced himself out of bed for photography review, Jack had planned on breakfast being the spare protein bar he'd left in his backpack.  To his surprise, there was a container of assorted baked goods on the kitchen table with a note tucked underneath it. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! Feel better soon!  -ERB” Jack had tucked the note in his pocket before taking muffin--maple walnut, he discovered--and going outside to wait for the shuttle.

"Bitty's a good kid,” Jack said. 

Shitty nodded emphatically.  "Anyone who bakes as a sign of affection is good in my book."  Jack lifted his head off of Shitty's thigh and raised an eyebrow at him.  He was about to ask what exactly Shitty meant by 'affection,' but the other gently coaxed him back down, moving his hand down to rub at Jack's neck.  Quietly, Shitty added, "I knew you'd come around."

Jack didn't say anything. When he’d seen the breakfast spread, his heart had been seized with guilt. Bitty was sweet and gentle with everyone; he was always the first to help out the new members, and had already volunteered to help send out gala invitations even though it involved hours of envelope-stuffing. But Jack—Jack didn’t deserve Bitty’s kindness, not after everything that had happened.

"You're ruminating," Shitty said, suddenly ruffling Jack's hair and urging him to sit up.  "Whatever you're thinking about--stop it, and come have dinner with me and Lardo.  We're doing rice and beans again, because Johnson and I both forgot to go grocery shopping this week."

Pushing himself to the edge of the bed, Jack stood up, noticing how Shitty watched his first few steps.  "I don't know what I'd do without you guys," he said, picking up his sweatshirt from where it lay on the floor and pulling it on.

Shitty shrugged and picked up his bag. "We've got your back, bro."

 

* * *

 

Jack started taking call after the fever went away, but the fatigue stayed. “Supervisor available by radio,” became reflexive for anything short of chest pain or respiratory distress. After calls, he would sleep in the office until the sun woke him up and then drag himself home, where Shitty would make sure he was taken care of. Bitty had apparently taken note that Jack wasn’t making it to every meeting of Women, Food, and American Culture, so he’d started coming by the house when he had time off in between classes. It was nice, having Bitty excitedly explain his way through the day’s notes while Jack lay in bed, too tired to sit up.

One afternoon, Shitty had brought a pot of coffee upstairs with him and set up camp on Jack’s bed next to Bitty. Jack had pushed himself into a sitting position so he could actually drink, and since they weren’t doing any real work anymore, took the opportunity to show some of his photography to the others.

Jack was trying to find one black-and-white candid he’d taken of Bitty sitting on his bed during one of their study sessions, the sun coming through the window and shining on Bitty’s hair, when his phone buzzed.  He glanced at the screen before tossing the phone across the bed and flopping back onto the pillows with a groan.  He nudged Shitty with his foot and said, "Kent says it's up to me if he comes to the Gala."

Shitty put down his book.  "What are you gonna tell him?"

Jack shook his head, more out of uncertainty than as an answer.  "I don't know.  It's stupid for me to tell him not to come just because I’ve been continually fucking up for years."

"Obviously it's your choice, but it's not like he's gonna be mad at you."

"I know, I know."  Jack pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  "I'm being an idiot."

"Um?" Bitty raised one hand, and Jack and Shitty both looked to him.  "Why is it such a big deal if Kent Parson comes?"

Shitty looked at Jack, and Jack quickly debated how much he wanted to explain.  "Kent and I sort of dated--he was my roommate, but we like—anyways—things got really messed up when I went on leave my sophomore year.  I've been avoiding him since then."  Jack glanced up at Bitty, who was staring back at him with wide eyes.  As always, here he was, confessing to giving the cold shoulder to the most renowned SEMCo alum of their time.  He sighed, holding his hands up in mock defense. "You can say whatever you're thinking--I know I'm being immature, but I--"

Reaching out, Bitty put one hand on Jack's thigh. "Lord, no, I would never--"  he smiled, shaking his head.  "I’m sorry, I just—took me a moment to wrap my head around--I thought you were straight."

Jack and Shitty locked eyes. "I told you, man," Shitty burst out laughing, leaning over and ruffling Jack's hair.  He turned to Bitty, who had a flush creeping up his face.  "This is a common problem; Jack's quiet and gentle bisexuality gets overshadowed by Ransom and Holster's nonstop public romance.  Plus, you know, there was that very public fling with Camilla last year—“

“Bitty wasn’t even here for that,” Jack groaned.

Shitty paid no heed and kept going, “She was the operations officer; she and Jack hooked up at the fall SEMCo party—“

“Stop—“

“But it doesn’t really matter, because we all know that Jack's true love is EMS.”

Jack buried his head under the pillow. "Cut it out, Shits," he mumbled, "I'm already uncomfortable enough as is."

"If you think having mono is going to stop me from chirping you, you don't know me at all, Mr. Zimmermann."  Shitty lay down next to Jack, lifting up the pillow and putting his head beside Jack's.  "Come on, Bitty--we're taking a post-serious-conversation slash harassing-the-director cuddle break."

While Shitty lifted his arm up and beckoned Bitty closer, Jack scooted back to make room for the freshman.  Bitty looked unsure, but after a few seconds, he smiled and put his notebook aside, fitting himself between Jack and Shitty.

"You guys are ridiculous," Bitty said as Shitty pulled him in. 

"I know, Bits," Shitty murmured. “It’s all part of our lifesaving charm. You’ll learn soon enough.”

Jack fell asleep, warm and comfortable, Shitty’s arm reaching over Bitty to rest on his back. He was vaguely aware of the bed shifting at one point, a blanket covering him, a hand on his forehead. “Poor guy can’t seem to get a break,” he heard Shitty say softly.

Bitty made a quiet, sympathetic sound and whispered, “Sleep well, Jack,” before the door closed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some calls hit too close to home.

"All on-duty SEMCo units, respond to Ravenwood 206 for the overdose.  Patient is unresponsive."

Jack had been in bed, holding the radio against his chest and hoping for a simple trip-and-fall patient that Ransom could handle on his own, but when Officer Danna read out the call information he sat up, the fatigue of the past few weeks gone in a second.  He was dressed and in the vehicle by the time Ransom, Bitty, and the tertiary signed on the air. 

When he pulled up outside Ravenwood, a scared-looking boy held the stairwell door open for him. He took the steps two at a time, oxygen bag over his shoulder, med kit in hand.  At the end of the hall, he could see Officer Hernandez outside the room, crouched beside a young woman in her pajamas.  She was sitting up on her own, engaging in conversation--good.  As he got closer, he saw the officer jerk his head into the room across the hall.

"Kevin's in there with her," he said, "Already called Capital."

Jack looked into the room.  It looked like every other freshman dorm--posters on the walls, bulletin boards with pictures of friends, textbooks piled everywhere.  Another young woman laid in the middle of it all, her blonde hair fanned out around her.  She snored with each breath, and Officer Atkins had tilted her on her side, his own first aid kit open on the floor beside him.  A syringe with a foam tip lay on the carpet by his knee.

"I gave her Narcan when I got here. She's still unresponsive."

Jack scanned the room for any sign of what she might have taken.  Reaching into the nearby trash can, he shook his head.  "Benzos," he said, "Narcan's not gonna do anything."  He knelt down beside the patient. "What's her name?"

"Nadine."

Jack called her name.  He pinched the skin on the back of her arm.  Nothing.  He took out an oral airway from his bag, opened her mouth with one hand, and slid the piece of plastic in over her tongue. 

"What do you need?"

Ransom knelt down beside him, a hand on his shoulder. 

"Blood sugar, full set of vitals, and we need to get her downstairs.  Keep an eye on her breathing, we're probably gonna need to bag her.  I found an empty bottle of Klonopin, and there's some on the floor."

Bitty appeared on his other side, dropping to his knees and wrapping a blood pressure cuff around the girl's arm.  He placed his stethoscope on the inside of her elbow and quickly inflated and deflated the cuff.  "88/48," he said, undoing the Velcro and putting the cuff aside.  "Chowder, can you hand me the glucometer?"

Jack hadn't noticed the other crew member, standing uncomfortably in the periphery.  At a quick glance, he recognized him from the midyear activities fair--this was probably the kid's first real call.  He was vaguely aware of the other assisting Bitty with a blood sugar while he and Ransom discussed how they were going to get the patient downstairs to the ambulance.

"Let's just throw her in the stair chair and go as soon as they pull up," Ransom said, taking out his bag-valve mask from his oxygen bag and hooking up the tubing.  "You okay with that?"

"Sounds good." He turned to Officer Atkins, who was still in the room, although he'd moved off to the side to give the crew room to work.  "Can you see if they're here yet?"  Kevin nodded and stepped out of the room, and Jack turned back to Ransom.  "You can go ahead and bag her--respiratory rate's gone down since I got here."

"Alright." Ransom placed the mask over the girl's face while Jack rolled her onto her back and tilted her head back.  He watched as Ransom delivered one slow breath, the girl's chest rising.  Bitty pulled the test strip out of the glucometer and handed the device back to the new kid. 

"Blood sugar's 90," he said. "Chowder can't get a good reading on the pulse ox--her fingers are really cold."

"That's fine," Jack said, “Let's get ready to move her.  Chowder, can you get the stair char ready?"

He heard the chair lock into place behind him.  This wasn't the ideal tool for moving her, but it would be faster than maneuvering her around the tight staircase on a scoop stretcher.  Ransom put down the mask for just long enough to help Jack lift Nadine onto the chair. Bitty reached around and buckled the straps around her before Jack started wheeling her toward the stairs.

“They’re here,” Officer Atkins called, gesturing outside.

“Have them bring the stretcher to the bottom of the stairs.” Ransom and Jack carried her down the steps while Bitty walked beside them, holding the oxygen tank. At the bottom, the Capital crew was waiting, and everyone lifted the girl onto their stretcher. The paramedic switched the oxygen tubing from SEMCo’s tank to their own while Jack buckled the straps over the patient. He gave his report and handed over the empty pill bottle before the paramedics wheeled the patient to the ambulance, flicked on the lights, and drove off.

The crew was quiet as they packed up their equipment and took everything back down to the vehicles. Bitty followed Jack to the supervisor vehicle and got in the passenger seat without saying anything. Chowder went with Ransom, and they all reconvened in the office to write the report.

Jack dictated while Chowder wrote, noticing the pen shaking in the younger man’s hand. He hoped that his own voice didn’t reflect how anxious he was feeling. He kept going, taking comfort in the distance that medical documentation afforded him, calling her ‘the patient’ instead of ‘Nadine.’

"I can take over if you want, Chowder," Bitty said softly, reaching over and taking the pen from Chris' hand.  Chowder handed the clipboard to Bitty, scooting over on the futon to make room.

Jack went on with the report, glancing between Bitty, to make sure he was keeping up, and Chowder, who was looking at his knees, lips pressed together, hands clasped in his lap.  When Jack finished dictating, he watched Bitty put an arm around Chowder and say something to him in an inaudible whisper.  Chowder shook his head and wiped at his eyes, his thanks accompanied by an uneasy smile.

"These calls are hard." Ransom leaned in and put his hand on Chowder's back.  He looked around the room, making brief eye contact with each crewmember.  Jack looked away. "If anyone wants to talk, you can always come to me or Jack, or any of your crew chiefs."

Bitty and Chowder nodded.  When Ransom stood, the two freshmen did as well.  They opened the office door and took their jump kits into the hall, waving to Jack on their way out. As they disappeared around the corner, Bitty still had his arm around Chowder.

"You coming?"

"I've gotta call Dr. Eames and let him know about this patient," Jack said.  Very few patients required immediate reporting to the health center staff, but this was certainly one of them.

"Alright, man," Ransom said, picking up his bag. "See you at shift change."

"Justin?" Jack called out while Ransom was still in the doorway. "Make sure Bitty and Chowder get home safely, please."

"Will do, Jack," Ransom said, closing the office door behind him.

Jack didn't move from where he stood by the filing cabinet.  His chest hurt, his hands were balled into fists, his legs felt like they were vibrating—adrenaline was one hell of a drug.  He took deep, slow breaths, like he'd talked panicking patients through time and time again--in for four, hold for four, out for four.  Jack waited until he heard the primary vehicle drive out of the parking lot before sitting on the futon and resting his head on his knees.  He gritted his teeth and kept counting.

In.  Two.  Three. Four.  Hold. Two. Three. Four. He’d counted four pills on the carpet, the bottle labeled as containing thirty, twenty-six half-milligram tablets meant thirteen milligrams of Klonopin. What was the equivalent in Ativan?  She hadn't vomited--he had, at least according to the report.  Was it enough? The roommate, wide-eyed in the hallway.   Kent pushing past the other EMTs and grabbing his arm.  

He covered his mouth with his hand to muffle his crying--the last thing he needed with Officer Danna hearing him from Dispatch.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited until geometric patterns appeared behind his eyelids and replaced his mental images of the scene.  He wanted to call Shitty, but he was caught in an anxious cycle--he didn’t want to bother Shitty at four in the morning, and although he would insist that he didn’t mind, Jack couldn’t make himself pick up the phone, even to text him.   Jack covered his head with his hands. He wanted to disappear. 

The door opened and he sat up, frantically wiping at his eyes.   Bitty stood in the doorway, mouth slightly open like he was about to say something.  He looked down at Jack with a mix of concern and pity and Jack held his gaze, blinking back tears, his own jaw trembling.  Wordlessly, Bitty sat on the futon and wrapped his arms around Jack, resting his head on Jack’s shoulder.

Jack waited for the questions to start, the pressure to talk about it, but all Bitty did was softly breathe 'it's okay' and squeeze Jack closer.  Another wave of tears came and Jack curled closer to Bitty, resting his chin on the younger man's forearm.  He hadn't cried in front of someone in years, but Bitty made it feel okay with a gentle stream of comforting words as Jack sobbed, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"My freshman year I--" The words caught in his throat.  Besides Shitty, no one at school knew.  He needed the Corps to trust him.  EMS was a close community, and he didn't need rumors circling about whether or not he could cut it.

He started over. "This is the one thing that gets to me."  Sniffling, he rested his head in his hands.  Everything felt heavy. "I'm so tired, Bitty--I can't deal with this."

"I know, honey," Bitty said, the pet name taking Jack by surprise.  What he'd said didn't seem to register with Bitty, who kept rubbing Jack's back with one hand and stroking his hair with the other.  "You've had a lot to deal with."  Jack nodded, wondering for a second if Bitty somehow knew.  "You're always looking after us.  What can you do to take care of yourself tonight?"

"I just want to sleep."

"Why don’t you do that, then?” Jack shifted positions on the futon, curling up on his side while making sure Bitty had enough room to sit.  "You're gonna sleep here?"

"Too tired to drive home."

"Want me to stay with you?  I'm not gonna be able to get back to sleep anyways."

"You don't have to." Being alone was usually how he handled these things, but having Bitty there had been nice. 

"I'll stick around at least until you fall asleep, okay?"

Jack nodded.  He felt Bitty pull the blanket from the back of the futon over and tuck it around Jack's shoulders.  Bitty flicked the switch and the room went dark, the only illumination coming from the backlight on Bitty’s phone. Closing his eyes, Jack let the exhaustion flow back over him. He was almost asleep when something occurred to him.

"Bitty?"

"Yes, darlin’?"

"Why did you come back to the office?"

Jack felt Bitty’s fingers running through his hair, and Bitty sighed. "You had the same look Mama gets when someone asks about her last deployment. Like you were holding your breath until the conversation was over."

Jack nodded. “She doing okay?”

“Better once she started getting help at the VA,” he heard Bitty reply.   There was a pause before the other went on, "You have someone you can talk to?"

Jack nodded again.

Bitty’s hand moved from Jack’s head to his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Good. If you ever need it, though—I’ve got your back, too.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring C: tis the season for Bitty to be underdressed, and Jack can't leave his favorite Corps member in the cold.

By the time Spring C came around, Jack was finally feeling back to normal, which meant that he was available to supervise the all-day take-care-of-the-drunks concert standby shift.  Shitty and Dex were there with him, and he'd gotten a few snapchats of Bitty (who was decidedly not working the event) getting ready--one of Lardo doing his eyeliner to match hers, and another of two water bottles filled with what appeared to be margaritas, judging by the tequila in the background.  Jack hadn't seen either of them yet, but the quad was packed by the time they set up the first aid tent, and he figured that at least Lardo would come by to see Shitty at some point.

It usually took a few hours of intoxicated concert attendance for anyone to get injured, but Dex had taken it upon himself to patrol the grounds for anybody in need of medical attention. Jack and Shitty had been biding their time on the rear bumper of the truck, sharing a set of earbuds. Jack had tried to make it to every session of the LGBT Military History that he and Shitty had signed up for, but as he got closer to the final he realized that just because he was in class when he had mono didn't mean any information made its way into his brain.  He and Shitty had started re-listening to the lecture recordings while Shitty pointed out particular things in his notes that seemed important for the test, and the somewhat-quiet time in between bands seemed like as good a time as any to get some work done. He had just started learning about the importance of drag in World War Two when Shitty tugged out Jack's earbud.

"Do we have a patient?" Jack looked around, but no one near the tent seemed to be looking for help.

"Even better," Shitty said, clapping Jack on the shoulder.  "I'll be, uh, acting as a second mobile unit.  Radio if you need me."  He grabbed his jump kit and walked off, high-fiving Bitty as they passed each other and Shitty disappeared into the crowd.

Bitty's gait was stable but measured, and the exuberance with which he greeted Jack betrayed the amount of liquor he'd had.  He threw his arms around Jack's neck and tugged him down into a hug, kissing him on the cheek.  "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever," he exclaimed, letting go of Jack and leaning against the rear door of the truck.  He folded his bare arms behind his head, eyes closed.

"You saw me at elections."

Bitty opened one eye and glanced at Jack. "That doesn't count. We had crew dinner on Thursday and you were distinctly not there."

"I had to meet with my thesis advisor--not all of us are undeclared first-years." Jack nudged Bitty with his elbow, and Bitty nudged him right back.

"If you'd been at dinner, you would have known that I actually picked my major, Mister Zimmermann.  Holster made me actually declare it to the well in Lake Quad, which apparently makes it official."

The way Bitty looked at Jack, proud and indignant, made him wish even more that he'd been there instead of hashing out deadlines. "So, what are you going to study?"

"Psychology.  I want to do clinical social work."

Jack smiled. "That'll be a good fit for you."

“I hope so.” Bitty brought his arms down from behind his head and rubbed his hands over them. Jack saw that his skin was covered in goosebumps: not just on his arms, but on the areas of his thighs that his shorts left exposed.

“You’re a little underdressed for April, Bits.”

With a playful glare, Bitty replied, “This is entirely appropriate attire for an outdoor concert. It’s the Northeast that’s got the temperature wrong.” He took a step closer to Jack, pressing his shoulder against Jack’s arm. Jack could feel Bitty shivering against him. “Lardo was wrong when she said I’d warm up after a few drinks.”

“I’d give you my jacket, but you know the rules,” Jack started, and Bitty started to mutter the protocol about being intoxicated while in uniform. Glancing around, Jack sighed and gently took hold of the younger man, urging him to stand in front of Jack. With Bitty’s back pressed to his chest, Jack wrapped his arms around Bitty, covering as much bare skin as he could with his own sleeves. He watched and tilted his head to the side as Bitty leaned back, his own head on Jack’s shoulder, the sun lighting up the stretch of skin across his collarbones and along his neck. They were both quiet for a long stretch, and the Bitty giggled.

“What?” Jack asked, his voice low.

“I’m wearing a Jack-et now,” Bitty said, putting extra emphasis on Jack’s name. He turned so that his forehead was against Jack’s neck. “I wish you were still going to be on e-board next year.”

Jack shrugged. He hadn’t had a choice—since he was set to graduate mid-year, he was ineligible for re-election. “I’m going to miss it, but at the same time, having my last semester free to figure out what I’m doing with my life will be good. Has Holster started orienting you yet?”

“Lord, yes,” Bitty said, sighing dramatically. “I didn’t think someone could fill a two-inch binder with important secretary things, but he’s managed it. We’re meeting once a week until the end of the semester.”

“You should see the amount of stuff I’m passing on to him—I tried to pare down the director manual, but it’s still a lot,” Jack said, “and Ransom got a flash drive of protocols and other stuff from Johnson, but he said there’s a bunch of weird stuff in there, like ‘plot progression protocol’ and ‘appropriate use of deus ex machina,’ so I’m going to try to help him sort through that as well.”

Bitty shivered. “I’m glad you’re gonna be around for the fall, though.”

Jack nodded in agreement. He ran his hands over Bitty’s upper arms, attempting to keep him warm, and Bitty seemed to melt deeper into him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The SEMCo Gala: Jack gives a speech, runs into some old friends, and Bad Bob still gives good advice.

Everyone had gathered at Jack’s apartment to get ready for the gala. Bitty had taken it upon himself to pick a tie for Jack while Lardo did his foundation (“I’m not gonna let you go up there and get washed out under the lights, dude.”) Ransom and Holster were across the hall, loudly helping Shitty get ready (“I told you, I’m not putting the pants on until it’s time to go, bro.”) Johnson stood in the hallway, commenting on the various conversations, although Jack had no idea what he was talking about (“This would look so good in the comic, guys, the action now, and the stillness of Jack’s speech later—visually balanced, you know?”)

Bitty was smoothing over Jack’s tie (a deep blue, with his EMT tie pin) when Shitty burst into the room. “The pants are on—let’s go, team,” he announced, and Jack was almost grateful that he wasn’t alone with Bitty anymore. He’d started feeling nervous around Bitty, like he was trying to impress him, and he didn’t know why. Their relationship had changed so much in the past year—they were friends, certainly, but he still felt like he needed to look out for Bitty.

They parked in the lot by the golf course clubhouse—the only place on campus fit for the gala—and went inside. There was a table set aside near the front of the room for the executive board, and they made space for Bitty, since he was ‘gonna officially be the secretary starting tomorrow,’ according to Holster.   The other guests, comprised of current members as well as alumni, started to trickle in. The bar opened, dinner was served, and while Jack kept an eye out for Kent, he didn’t see him.

Johnson made his way to the podium and tapped on the microphone. He introduced himself, talked about how many calls SEMCo had done in the past year, about they’d been the first student organization in the state with a nasal naloxone protocol, about how many students they had trained in CPR. Lardo played the slideshow of pictures of the Corps, with more than a few of Jack’s shots in there. By the time Ransom started talking, Jack had stopped paying attention, focused on the fact that he was up next. He saw Ransom gesture to him, people were clapping, and Jack walked to the front of the room, notes for his speech in hand, and started.

“Thank you, Justin,” he said, his voice still warming up. “I, um, it’s an honor to be here with you all today. SEMCo has been an important part of my time here at Samwell, and tonight, I’d like to share a little about what that experience has been like.” There was no set way for the director’s speech to go—some read like summaries of the year, and some read more like inspirational speeches about teamwork.

“Many people here can say that SEMCo changed their life. Maybe it showed you that you loved medicine, or that you hated it. Maybe it gave you friends, or purpose. For many of us, it’s been our home on campus. But before I was director, before I was even an EMT, this organization saved my life.

"Right after Thanksgiving break of my sophomore year, I took a bottle of Xanax in my room in Kelleher.  I have a few patchy memories of that night. I remember calling SEMCo--my roommate, Kent Parson, had insisted I put it on speed-dial when he joined.” Jack couldn’t see far into the room, with the lights bright on his face, but honestly, he was better off assuming that Kent hadn’t been able to make it after all. “He was the first person on scene.  I specifically chose that night because he wasn't on duty, but he'd swapped shifts to cover for someone who needed time to study for finals.  I remember him fumbling with the blood pressure cuff and watching as someone took over for him.  I remember another EMT putting her hand on his back and saying, 'Just focus on being here for him.  We've got your back, Kent.'"

“By the time I returned to Samwell two and a half years later and joined SEMCo, this phrase had become a common saying in tough times, a mantra. The first person to say it to me was Ellie Goldman, a primary at the time, when I locked myself out of my room after my first sleepless night of back-to-back calls and had a panic attack. When I became primary, I wanted to be there for my crew like she had been for me. But I discovered that it's hard to have someone else's back when you're busy keeping your own against the wall.” 

“I worked in a fire-based service before joining SEMCo. I was worried that people would hear about my history and assume I was weak, that I couldn't handle this job, so I kept it a secret.   EMS is stuck in this macho culture--this hypermasculine space. It's not popular to talk about your feelings."  Jack tried to keep from smiling as Shitty pumped his fist in the air and put one hand to his heart, a blissful expression on his face. "But here at SEMCo, we're lucky to have folks who can break through that expectation.  Eric Bittle, one of our newest members, stepped up after a recent call to make sure his crewmembers--myself included--were okay.  Kent Parson has spoken with EMTs all over the country about mental health.  Shi—Mr. Knight makes it clear from the start that everyone is welcome here if they’re willing to learn, and isn’t afraid to remind older members that we were all new to the job at one time. It’s been a privilege to serve with such a strong team.”

"Most of us won’t be EMTs forever—I read all the bios you sent in with your RSVP; we’ve got a few lawyers, a hedge fund manager, various kinds of researchers, and more doctors than I bothered to count. Many of you are married, some to your former Corps members, and some are parents as well. No matter where we end up, we all connected here.” He flipped to the last page of his notes. It felt like no time had passed since he started. “Only some of us come into this job with baggage, but everyone leaves with it.   Having each other’s backs doesn’t stop when we leave campus. Look out for each other out there. Thank you.”

He stepped away from the microphone and went back to the table, the applause from the room overwhelming. He sat back down and was immediately pulled into a hug with Shitty, who planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re amazing, bro,” Shitty said, holding Jack’s face in his hands. Jack smiled.

Holster wrapped up the ceremony, directing everyone to the dessert table. Jack got swept up in a crowd of recent alumni, some of whom he recognized, some he didn’t. One woman came toward him, wiping at her eyes. She explained that she was the EMT who had been with Kent that night. She wrapped her arms around Jack, and his own eyes were hot with tears. “I called the hospital every day to see if you were still there,” she whispered, “I was so scared you weren’t going to make it. You looked like such a kid.”

When the two separated and the group made their way toward dessert, Jack heard Bitty say his name from nearby. The younger man looked hesitant for a second before enthusiastically pulling Jack into a hug.  "I'm glad you're okay," he said, voice muffled against Jack's shoulder.

Jack nodded, somewhat taken aback by the ferocity of Bitty's embrace. "Thanks, Bitty."

When Bitty let go, he looked a little sheepish, trailing his hand down Jack's arm, squeezing Jack's hand before letting go.  "Um," he said, looking toward the door, "Ransom's gonna take us up to the Ellerby roof--I think the plan is to sleep up there, apparently the view of the sunrise is great.  He wanted me to come grab you."

Jack looked around the room--there were still a lot of people he hadn't talked with yet, including some important alum. "I should stay a little longer--can I catch up with you later?"

"The building locks down at ten," Bitty said, and Jack glanced at his watch.  It was nine-thirty.

Sighing, Jack shook his head. “I’ll have to catch you guys another time. Be safe up there, okay?”

Visibly disappointed, Bitty nodded. “We’ll do it again in the fall, just for you.” He hugged Jack one more time before following the others outside. Jack watched him go, and continued looking at the door even after he was gone. Finally, he pulled himself away and headed to the dessert table when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you."

Jack froze, little plastic tongs still holding onto a chocolate chip cookie.  Slowly, he put the utensil down and turned.  He hadn’t seen Kent come in—he certainly wasn’t there when Jack had shown up. Kent was taller than Jack remembered him, certainly not the scrawny nineteen-year-old he'd been when Jack disappeared.  He looked professional, grown-up, but the smirk on his face was nothing new.

"How long have you been waiting to say that?" Jack asked, attempting a smile.

Kent's expression softened.  "Too long," he said, and Jack thought he heard his voice break. "I missed you, Zimms."

Jack closed the space between them, putting his arms around Kent.  They'd both grown, but Jack's head was still the right height to tuck against Kent's neck.  Kent's arms were strong around him, one hand cradling the back of his head. Jack started to apologize, the words spilling out in a rush, "Kenny, I'm sorry I--you didn't--I shouldn't--"

"It's okay," Kent hushed him gently, using the same voice he'd used when they were teenagers, "You were great up there, and I’m really fucking proud of you.” He pulled away slightly, looking Jack in the eyes. “We've got a lot of catching up to do, but we can do that later, okay?"

Jack didn't know what he was expecting--it had always felt like he’d inflicted some terrible trauma on Kent, and then doubled it by ignoring him.  He figured that Kent would resent him, but there was no sign of that on his face.  He looked genuinely happy to see Jack, to see that he was doing well.

Biting his lip, Jack nodded.  "How long are you in town?"

"I'm doing a pediatric surgery rotation at Children's," Kent replied, "So I'll be around for a few weeks."

"Want to do dinner this week, before I go back home?"

"I'd like that." Kent smiled before clapping Jack on the shoulder.  "Now look, I didn't come here to steal you from the party.  Looks like Bad Bob wants a word with you, and I know my place around here."

Jack took a breath to steel himself before turning around. He’d known that he would end up talking with SEMCO’s founder that night, but right after seeing Kent was bordering on too much to handle.

"That was quite a speech you gave,” the older man said when Jack faced him.

Jack racked his brain for Bad Bob's real name, managing after a pause, "Thank you, Dr. Alice."  He held out his hand.  "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Bob, please."  Dr. Alice shook his hand.  "We don't talk about mental health enough in medicine, and especially not providers' mental health.  It takes guts to tell a story like that, but it's what we need to get a discussion going."

Nodding, Jack gave a small smile.  "I'm lucky to have colleagues--friends--who will listen."

"Speaking of which, why aren't you with the rest of your table?" Dr. Alice asked. "Didn't I see them all head out a little while ago?"

"Yeah--I thought I should stay, since I'm the director.  It didn't seem to professional to disappear."

Dr. Alice put his hand on Jack's shoulder.  "Son--can I give you some advice?"

Hesitantly, Jack swallowed.  "Sure?"

"Being the director puts a lot on your shoulders--and it sounds like you've already got a lot there as it is.  You're responsible for the campus, for your members, for the organization, the legacy.  Does that sound right?" Jack nodded, and Dr. Alice gave a knowing smile.  "You forget you're a college student.  You’ve got the rest of your career to get pulled away from your friends and family for work. Go along with your friends—SEMCo will still be here tomorrow.”

Jack felt his smile broaden. He felt lighter, relieved. “Thank you, Dr. Alice—Bob.”

Dr. Alice gently shooed Jack toward the door, and Jack reached into his pocket for his phone, quickly sending a text to Ransom.

_I'm coming.  Wait for me?_

Jack glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes of of ten--he didn't have time to go back to the apartment and change out of his suit, so he started toward the science center.  He had enough familiarity with the building complex to know where Ellerby was, but not enough to know how to get anywhere near the roof. He glanced at his phone when it vibrated with a reply.

_Bitty's heading to the lobby with my card bc he’s the fastest.  Run._

Jack heard Bitty before he saw him--the younger man was shouting 'over here' while holding open the door to Ellerby with his foot.  Finding that his dress shoes had surprisingly good traction, Jack turned and headed for the doors, following Bitty inside.

"We've gotta take the stairs," Bitty said, pointing to the left and starting up the steps. "The lab's on the fifth floor."

Each taking two steps at a time, they reached the landing.  Bitty already had Ransom's ID in his hand and swiped in against the lock to one of the doors living the hallway.  He beckoned Jack to follow him, weaving through a series of cubicles, each with a powered-down computer and set of headphones on the desk. There weren't any windows that Jack could see, but when they reached the far side of the room, Bitty opened another door to what looked like a conference room. 

Above the projection screen, there was a clock reading ten PM exactly. The last time he'd looked at his watch was right before he saw Bitty in the lobby, and they'd had at least five minutes before the building locked down.  "Bitty," Jack said, freezing and preparing himself for the alarm to sound.

Bitty was already halfway through the window, having hoisted himself over a bookshelf to get access.  Looking behind him, he didn't stop.  Instead, he called back toward Jack, "That's the messed-up clock you didn't believe me about!  Come on, Jack!"

Going from thinking he was out of time to having no idea how much time he had left, Jack bolted for the window, using the bookshelf like a ladder and following Bitty outside.  He dropped the few feet onto the roof while Bitty stayed on the ledge and pulled the window closed.

"Just in time," Bitty said, glancing at his watch and smiling at Jack. "Help me down?"

Nodding, Jack reached up while Bitty scooted to the edge and pushed himself off.  Jack caught him, arms wrapped tight around the younger man.  As he set Bitty on the ground, he paused. Bitty’s arms were still around his neck, even though his feet were definitely on the ground. Jack didn’t let go either.

Bitty smiled and got a little taller—must have gone onto his tiptoes. Jack was still crouching a bit; he’d never realized just how much shorter Bitty was. His breathing quickened and he focused on Bitty’s eyes. He looked happy, hopeful. He looked how Jack felt.

The space between them disappeared as Jack let Bitty pull him closer, their lips meeting. Jack slid one hand from where it was resting on Bitty’s waist, cradling the back of his head and tangling in his hair. He was still catching his breath after his run from the conference center, and when he broke away for air, he could see Bitty’s smile—bright, like someone had flipped a switch.

As he was about to kiss Bitty again, just to make sure that this was really happening, there was shouting in the distance. Both Jack and Bitty glanced toward the sound, and as Jack came to his senses, he was able to make sense of the noise. Ransom and Holster were cheering, and Shitty was definitely yelling, “Get it, you fucking gorgeous Director!” They were far away, but Jack could make out Lardo standing beside them, nodding.

“I’m glad you decided to come along,” Bitty said quietly, his palm resting against Jack’s cheek.

Jack nodded. He leaned in again, resting his forehead against Bitty’s. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

Jack woke up to the sound of sirens. They’d stayed up until almost two, all huddled under various blankets with their respective partners. Bitty had laid on Jack’s chest while Ransom and Holster cuddled nearby, Holster making up constellations and pointing them out to his boyfriend. Shitty and Lardo had wandered off to explore the rest of the roof for a bit, but finally settled down next to Jack, Shitty silently holding out his fist until Jack bumped it with his own. Jack had been the first to fall asleep, conversations continuing around him, but when he woke up, all he could hear were the siren tones echoing off the buildings.

With a confused sound, Bitty lifted his head off Jack's chest. "Everything okay?"

"Something’s going on," Jack said softly.

Lying back down, Bitty pressed his lips to Jack's neck.  "That's not your problem tonight," he murmured, slipping one hand under Jack’s shirt and stroking his side. “It’s just us right now.”

Jack nodded. “I know.” He turned his head and met Bitty in a kiss. “Just you and me.”

“Well, the boys and Lardo are a few feet away.” Jack was sure he could feel Bitty beaming, even though he was in shadow. He made everything bright. “It can be just the two of us tomorrow.” As Bitty rolled onto his back, Jack let himself be pulled into the younger man’s arms. He rested his head on Bitty’s chest, one arm around him.

“I’d like that,” he said, and he felt Bitty’s lips against his forehead. Jack fell back to sleep to the sound of Bitty’s heartbeat, the sirens fading into the distance.

 


End file.
